


doubles or nothing

by battleofthesurfraces



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Laver Cup, Laver Cup 2019, M/M, the greatest weekend of the year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 15:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battleofthesurfraces/pseuds/battleofthesurfraces
Summary: Just a quick story concerning that Nadal/Tsitsipas - Kyrgios/Sock doubles match and... all that occurred.





	doubles or nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: purely a work of fiction, aside from the obvious genuine warmth that Roger and Rafa have for each other. Also, in my fictional world, Nadal/Tsitsipas won that match over those dudebros and it was glorious and perfect. Also, inspired by Incorrect Tennis Quotes on Twitter, whose great works of prose I always appreciate.

They have hand signals too, of course.

The set is called- a blissful, unexpected victory- and as soon as Rafa meets Roger’s eyes, Roger knows. A quick smirk, a flash of stomach and they’re off, sprinting towards the locker room. The air is crackling with the promise of a tiebreak and the unadulterated joy of the competition. He doesn’t even realise there’s a camera trailing them until he’s following Rafa through the door. Once it’s closed behind them - locking the rest of the world out - Roger’s quick to press their bodies together, crowding Rafa against the back of the door, cupping Rafa’s face in his hand and bringing Rafa’s mouth to his in an adrenaline-filled, frantic kiss. Rafa draws a sharp breath in through his nose and bites back, all lips and teeth and tongue - he tastes of the salt of hours of sweat and it’s maybe the best thing Roger’s ever tasted in his life.

He can feel Rafa’s chest heaving against his slightly from exertion and his legs trembling after hours of match play- and before that rather too many competitive wall-sits- so he slots their legs together and wraps a supportive hand around Rafa’s back. Rafa’s characteristically animated - his fingers tangle in Roger’s hair, then grip at his back before settling on his hips as they briefly lose themselves in each other, the sheer joy of the weekend racing to catch them. When Roger breaks away to take a quick breath he finds Rafa grinning at him in delight, crow’s feet extending down to meet the smile lines on his face. Roger can’t help but swipe a thumb against them and exchange the grin with a wide one of his own.

“Great set, Raf.” Rafa scrunches up his nose and there’s more than a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he responds, “Despite the hand signals?”

They both crack up laughing, the near-hysteria from earlier threatening to break back. Roger's giggling through his words as he responds, “I can’t believe you got a set past them without even understanding each other’s hand signals.”

Rafa frowns, “Well, you know, Stefanos is playing well out there.” The Spaniard's deadpan press-room like answer causes Roger to raise an eyebrow in amusement. He presses his lips together, “He is indeed.” Rafa raises his left eyebrow, in mock sternness.

“We cannot adopt another, Roger. We already have Sascha and Domi. Too many, no? They get jealous.” Roger pouts at that and Rafa grins again, leaning in to press their lips together briefly, clutching the back of Roger’s head in a close embrace, as he had at the bench earlier.

They take a deep breath together and part, Rafa using the space to shake out his limbs, preparing to return to the match. He tucks his hair behind his ears and wipes his nose, game face back on. Roger gazes appreciatively at the sight - how lucky he is to have a long-term rival of such a caliber, to get to play on the same team as him, to win alongside him, and to fall, irrevocably, in love with him. But still, the outside world, the match, as always, awaits.

“Vamos?” Rafa smiles at the floor at the terribly pronounced Spanish- for a second he looks as young and shy as he was when he was at eighteen. He's 19 Grand Slams worth of frantic confidence when he meets Roger's eyes though, and Roger is reminded that some things really do get better with age.

“Vamos, Roger.” A hand clasp and a back slap- their hand clasp lingers a little longer than usual, fingertips tangling and brushing together. Rafa grasps Roger’s fingers just as they’re about to separate and presses them against his once more, briefly and firmly. Roger presses back, in perfect equilibrium. They exchange soft smiles, acknowledging the golden hours of this competition, blurring the lines between rivals and teammates, players and coaches, friends and more. And then Rafa drops his hand and yanks open the locker room door.

Stefanos is waiting outside awkwardly- at the sight of him Rafa chokes a bit on a startled cough, recovering quickly he draws him in for a clasped hand and back slap. Roger does his best to not to look too conspicuous over Rafa’s shoulder, before nodding at Stefanos sternly and gesturing for him to join them in returning to court. Rafa turns to him quickly, covering his mouth so Stefanos can’t hear, and whispers to Roger,  
“I’m thinking we might need to adopt him after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/a comment, so I know I can still write fanfiction after about a decade of not (apologies, I am unbearably rusty and wrote this very quickly). And have a great rest of Laver Cup weekend!


End file.
